


All of Me

by AstralAlmighty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auror Partners, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Draco plays the piano, Epiphanies, F/F, F/M, M/M, Ministry of Magic Ball (Harry Potter), No action though I’m sorry, POV Harry Potter, Piano, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstralAlmighty/pseuds/AstralAlmighty
Summary: At a Ministry Ball, Pansy dares Draco to play the piano, and Harry has an epiphany during the performance.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 105





	All of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this god-knows-when, and I’ve been editing it for a solid three weeks so here it is.
> 
> The song that inspired this, titled this, and which Draco performs is All of Me by The Piano Guys. 
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9fAZIQ-vpdw
> 
> Will this get a sequel? 
> 
> I have no fucking clue.

“Truth or dare,” a voice crooned in Harry’s ear. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, spilling champagne down his robes. He whirled around, coming face-to-face with Pansy Parkinson, and opened his mouth to cuss her out. Draco laughed from his other side—distracting his insults—and pulled out his wand to clean Harry’s mess. 

A tingle of warm magic soaked his chest. Suppressing a shiver, Harry glanced up to penetrating grey eyes and quickly looked away. 

He flushed, turning to sip the sparse droplets. He didn’t need to see Pansy to know she was smirking. 

“Well?” She teased, lifting an elbow to lean against Harry’s shoulder. He shrugged her off and ignored her; a Ministry ball was the last place to play one of Pansy’s games.

Draco snorted into his glass, ignoring the dark look Harry sent his way. Pansy took his mirth as an invitation, though, and twirled around Harry to rest her hands on Draco’s shoulders. 

Twisting slightly, she whispered just loud enough for Harry to hear, “Well, Draco, since Wonder Boy here is refusing to play, how about you?” 

Draco, to Harry’s delight, looked twice as uncomfortable. His gaze was firmly locked on Ron and Hermione, who waltzed across the ballroom wearing matching smiles. 

They looked quite charming, Harry figured, and as content as he was to watch with Draco, he longed to join someone out there. 

The problem was that he wasn’t keen on anyone—at least at the moment. 

The Wizarding World knew he was bisexual, of course, but when he gazed across the room, the ones who caught his fancy weren’t appealing... for whatever reason.

He had felt like this for a while now, Harry noticed with a surprising calm. Ever since—what was it—a few weeks after he befriended Draco.

That was right—his last date had been a week after their first mission together. A stunning success, Draco had remarked, blowing the Ministry away and—with horror then and gratitude now—convincing the Aurors that Draco and he were perfect partners.

Harry turned his attention back to the Slytherins, banishing all thoughts of romance and work. He could worry about that later when he was piss drunk with the lot of them.

“C’mon, I’ll play too,” Pansy urged, sticking out her bottom lip. 

Draco sighed with a smile, tilting his head back to drain the last of his glass. Harry watched his throat bob in the floating candlelight, shining with a light sweat. 

There was a freckle on his neck, stark brown against his pale skin. 

Draco had once confessed to hating those occasional freckles—although he was drunk off his arse and had little memory of the night. Harry had to bite his tongue from drunkenly spilling that they were actually quite pretty, and he—

“Fine,” Pansy snapped, pulling Harry from his reverie. He watched as she flounced across the golden hall. 

“What’d you say?” Harry inquired, fiddling with his empty fluke.

“What, you weren’t listening?” Draco arched a brow, smiling in amusement. Harry shrugged sheepishly, turning to follow Pansy’s skimpy black dress through the crowd. 

“Don’t worry,” Draco reassured, “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

And sure enough, Pansy came to a halt at Ginny, who had been chatting with some Ministry official. From Harry’s angle, Pansy’s dark hair hid her face, but he could see Ginny’s face light up in delight.

Harry watched with a mix of bafflement and joy as Pansy Parkinson led Ginerva Weasley to the dance floor. Now that she had turned around, Harry could see a deep blush across Pansy’s cheeks.

Harry’s head whipped to Draco, who was watching the two with a deep smile. They were waltzing amid the other couples now, Ginny’s cropped hair and long robes a beautiful contrast to Pansy’s bobbed locks and short dress. 

“You”—Harry spluttered—“dared her to make a move?” Draco grinned into his champagne, fixing Harry with a knowing look. 

“Well, someone had to,” he smirked, and Harry turned back to the couple. Pansy was smiling shyly, looking at their feet verses Ginny’s eyes. He watched as Ginny reached and tilted Pansy’s chin, forcing her to make eye contact. Pansy swallowed from across the room, flushing as Ginny gave her a soft, genuine smile. 

“About time,” Harry agreed, setting his fluke on a floating plate. 

They chatted for a few minutes, discussing the food and ball. It was good drinks, they both agreed, but horrendous food. Harry nearly gagged trying some peppered meat, and he convinced Draco to give it a go, savoring the look of disgust that painted his face. 

Few people were in Muggle garb too, and Harry found it incredibly ironic how most of said people were purebloods—Draco and Pansy included. Draco blushed slightly and readjusted his tie, muttering something about stylish looks, before a certain Slytherin popped up again. 

“Alright, my turn.”

“Lost your date already?” Draco joked, glancing at the doors where Ginny had slipped through. 

Pansy blushed, but gave him a small smile. 

“Shut up you arrogant prick, truth or dare,” she muttered, but the insult didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Draco laughed at the jibe and paused to stare Pansy down. She smirked, cocking her head in amusement, and he lifted his chin in determination. 

Harry’s eyes flicked between the pair, waiting for the next move. Draco glanced at Harry, smirking slightly, and Pansy’s grin widened. 

At long last, Draco relaxed. “Dare.”

Pansy gave a deep sigh, as if his choice meant her bodily harm. She looked at Harry, who raised his eyebrows in silent uncertainty, and she chuckled. She looked Harry up and down, pursing her lips in consideration. 

Harry suppressed a shudder; Pansy was a nightmare when she wanted to be. 

“Don’t you dare...” Draco murmured, his voice low and warning. Harry’s brow furrowed, and he looked to the blond, who had fixed Pansy with a dark glare. 

Pansy hummed, turning back to Draco and releasing Harry from her scrutinizing examination. She smirked and whispered something in Draco’s ear.

Harry watched with a mixture of amusement and worry as Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He spluttered, struggling to compose himself as Pansy pulled away. 

“A dare’s a dare,” she crooned, leaning slightly towards Draco’s flabbergasted expression. He opening his mouth to retort, but she pressed a finger to his lips. 

Draco’s eyes narrowed, reduced to slits of stormy grey, as Pansy grinned from ear to ear. 

Furrowing his brow even deeper in confusion, Harry looked between glowering grey eyes and a simpering smile; tension thick enough to cut with a knife. 

Finally, Draco inhaled and rolled his eyes, breaking the tension with a sigh. He lifted a hand to rub at his temple, and when he pulled away, his face had melted to a cool mask of determination. 

“Alright then,” he declared, squaring his shoulders and turning away. Harry watched him trek around the dance floor, duck under a floating platter, and pause at the piano, loosening his tie in the process. Harry turned to Pansy, questions on the tip of his tongue, but she had vanished into thin air.

He spun around, finding her by the doors. She smirked upon meeting his gaze, winked, and disappeared through the mahogany entrance. Baffled, Harry turned back to the room. 

Draco was talking with the piano player, who—from Harry’s angle—looked terrified at the man before him. Merlin, if only people could get over the stupid past—

“Oi, mate, where’d your date run off to?” Ron joked, leading Hermione with him. They were both flushed from dancing; Ron quite a bit more from Hermione’s clever skills. 

Harry scoffed, “Sod off.” And looked to Hermione’s knowing grin. He blushed, turned to hide his face, and grabbed two more flukes, passing them to the red-faced couple. 

Hermione downed the glass—much to Ron and Harry’s shock—and gracefully set it back on the platter. She smiled, looping an arm through Ron’s and scanning the dance floor. “Where is he, anyhow? I saw you two with Pansy not a minute ago.”

Harry—still recovering from Hermione’s impressive display—coughed and turned back to the room. He pointed across the room, opened his mouth to explain, but snapped it shut when he saw Draco—devoid of jacket and tie—sitting at the piano, hands resting on the keys. 

“Draco plays? I had no idea!” Hermione said, leaning forward with anticipation. Ron sipped his champagne—curiosity playing across his features—and Harry quickly composed himself, reaching for another fluke. 

Merlin’s tits, Draco looked good in a button down. His fit form was accented by the white shirt, tight in all the right places. The top button had been undone, revealing his Adam’s apple, and the sleeves were rolled back to his wrists. 

Harry swallowed thickly; his mouth suddenly dry. Gulping more champagne, he gazed around the room, looking everywhere but Draco.

A few guests were watching, having noticed the pause in music. Harry’s lips thinned—remembering Pansy’s mysterious dare—and he turned back to the piano; green eyes unexpectedly meeting grey. 

Draco hastily looked away. 

Harry’s fluke froze halfway to his mouth. He watched as Draco’s eyes fluttered shut, hands skimmed across the keys, and chest rose in time with a silent song. 

As Harry lowered his fluke, Draco’s eyes blinked open. He planted his hands among the white and black keys, steeling himself for the song. 

A bold chord rang through the air, catching the ball’s attention. Voices were shushed as a smooth descending set of notes danced from Draco’s hands. 

He returned to more chords; eyebrows knotted together and lips pressed thin in concentration. More guests were watching now, hypnotized by his smooth entrance.

The music was slow, but confident, and utterly enchanting. The way it flowed from his fingers and through the grand piano, Harry wasn’t sure if he had heard any song sound so beautiful. 

He blinked, enraptured by Draco’s performance. With a quick survey of the room, he found he wasn’t the only one transfixed. 

Draco’s stiff posture melted, bit by bit, as the music progressed. He paused between notes, glancing up to a rapt audience, and froze. 

Harry held his breath, waiting for Draco’s fear or confidence to overtake him. After a second, it became the latter, and he leapt back into the music. 

Trills sprang from the keys, accompanied by expertly placed chords and a confident melody. This section was much faster, building to a verse of sorts. 

Draco’s blond hair fell into his eyes, and he blew it away, eyes locked on his hands. His fingers leapt down the keyboard, jumping from note to note.

Harry watched a bead of sweat slip down Draco’s cheek and dangle from his jaw. It dropped, and Harry’s eyes followed it to his hands. They were moving much too fast to see, but Harry knew they were long and slender—absent of jewelry or nail polish—but neatly manicured and delicately thin. 

Hermione tapped his chin, and Harry’s gaping mouth snapped shut, but he refused to avert his gaze. 

The piano’s notes twirled, lilting in the golden candlelight. It was fast-paced and loud, but gentle and soothing. 

Draco’s face—once furrowed in concentration—fell slack. His shoulders relaxed and his posture fell ever-so-slightly. 

He was completely immersed in the music, Harry knew, uncaring of the audience or the world that surrounded him. 

Out of nowhere, Draco’s hands blurred on the keys. The chords deepened and the music accelerated; the song now energetic and building. 

Harry’s breath caught, enchanted by Draco’s song. 

The song climaxed, and filled Harry with a rush of adrenaline. He gasped—fingers stiffening around his glass—and refocused his eyes on Draco’s defined form. 

Unexpectedly, the song dropped to a whisper, but the adrenaline did not fade. A gentle, but complex, rhythm pranced through the room and built the emotion with a renewed look. 

Harry looked to find the entire crowd watching with anticipation. A scowling man loudly whispered something to his date, but she shushed him, eyes fixated on Draco. 

The song crescendoed again, slowly building to something Harry couldn’t see. Draco was practically smashing the keys now, but his aggressive playing only embellished the piece, drawing in his audience with an alluring fervor.

Candles floated around the piano in a circle of fire. The small beams of light illuminated Draco’s face, casting long shadows down his neck and nose. 

Harry savored the sight. He knew Draco was an attractive man—everyone could see that—but it seemed twice as distracting tonight. 

Draco glanced up—so fast it was almost imperceptible—and met Harry’s eyes. He winked, and Harry’s stomach flipped.

The music picked up again, and it soared through the room, fresh notes rising to take the echos places. Harry swallowed, still recovering from the eye contact, and sipped more champagne. 

Draco’s hair was starting to tangle from his passionate playing. It was short, a little longer than Hogwarts, but pretty nonetheless.

He bent over, using his entire forearm on the keys. The resounding bangs echoed through the hall, but were lost to the approaching melody. 

And then the melody returned, loud and demanding. Draco’s face was red from the hall’s heat, and his eyes were screwed in concentration. His hands continued to bound down the keys, drawing forth a beautiful song. 

Harry sighed, allowing the tugs of a smile to take control. He grinned, relishing in the music and Draco’s talent. 

Harry never knew how well Draco could play, even though he had alluded to it once or twice. He needed to ask him about it; where he learned; what else he played. Perhaps he’d play again, if Harry asked, and hope swelled in his chest. 

The melody repeated, just as demanding as before. Whatever this song was, it was absolutely incredible. Draco looked beautiful while playing it too. Even though his face was red and his hair was messy, his eyes were focused and calculating. His mouth was slightly parted, but relaxed in a way Harry had never been witness to. 

The corners of Draco’s mouth lifted, and Harry’s heart jumped for what was the millionth time that night. He looked so content; a blissful smile spread across his face that sparked a fire in Harry—

Oh.

Oh. 

Oh no.

Harry’s smile dropped, and his eyes widened. 

That—that would explain it. The connection they had after befriending each other, the way Harry constantly admired Draco’s looks, the contentment he felt when they were together. 

Was he really as idiotic as Hermione liked to tease? 

Of course, of fucking course he was. He was in love with Draco, of course he fucking was. 

And it... it made sense. Of course it made sense. It had to make sense. It had to make sense and Harry just had to be stupid enough to not notice. 

It didn’t feel like some giant epiphany—even though it probably was—it felt like a gentle wave. It was expected. Completely and utterly expected. 

Fuck. 

Draco ended the song with a gentle bang. Harry jumped in response, nearly dropping his fluke. 

The piano echoed through the hall, dying at the golden walls, and Draco froze—breathless—over the keys. 

There was a solid second of silence, and then the entire room burst into applause. 

Harry blinked himself back to the hall. Ron was whistling, joined by a few other guests, and Hermione enthusiastically clapped, a wide smile painting her features. Harry’s hands began moving of their own accord, clapping as a slightly strained smile grew across his face. 

Draco paused, looking through the room with an unsure gaze, but he gave the crowd a small smile. As he turned to retrieve his jacket and tie, a camera flared in the crowd. That would be tomorrow’s front page, considering the ball had been incredibly uneventful. 

Hermione’s green robes brushed past Harry, intent on rescuing Draco from a woman in white.

“Merlin’s beard, did you see that?” Ron asked in disbelief, “That was incredible!” 

Fuck, I’m in love, Harry thought, replacing his fluke on a platter and fisting his hands in his pockets. He watched as Draco shrugged on his jacket—forgoing his tie—and disappeared with Hermione into the throng of people, the white-robed witch forgotten. 

They were probably heading back here, or maybe they’d skip and floo home. Ron and he could catch up in a minute, although Pansy and Ginny were probably occupied, so it would be just the four of them tonight. 

Great.

Looking to Ron, Harry nodded in agreement, forcing a small smile. Ron stared back at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

Oh, fuck.

“Did I say that out loud?” Harry said with mild panic. 

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Hermione and Draco’s arrival. 

“Come on,” she urged, grabbing Ron’s hand, “We’ll head back now, before someone else corners Draco.” 

Draco grinned with a naked joy. As Hermione and Ron vanished into the crowd, he turned to Harry, opening his mouth to speak. His face fell, though, when he met Harry’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? I wasn’t that bad, was I?” He asked, fidgeting with his forlorn tie. 

“Oh, not at all!” Harry exclaimed. “Draco, that was—gods, that was incredible! I didn’t know you could play like that, when—when on Earth did you learn?” He stammered, grinning to hide his panic. Draco smiled, looking to his shoes sheepishly. 

“My mother taught me”—he looked back to Harry’s eyes—“but are you really alright? You look like you came to some horrifying realization.” 

“No, no, no,” Harry lied, “I’m just—wow, Draco, wow... that was beautiful.” He forced a wide smile, compressing the swell of fear in his chest. 

Hermione called out their names, and Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist, ignoring the warmth that bloomed in his hand and chest.

“Come on, we’ll lose them.” He turned, dragging Draco towards the doors—thankful to hide his face. 

He shoved past a red-robed wizard and ducked under a platter, but his hand slipped from Draco’s in the scuffle. The other man grabbed on, intertwining their fingers for better grip.

Harry’s heart stuttered, and he swallowed thickly. Pressing forward, Harry caught sight of Hermione and Ron, when Draco’s hand gave him a small squeeze. 

A reminder. A reminder that he was here and they were okay. 

Oh, Harry was well and truly fucked, wasn’t he.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
